The Chosen

by Kristina Ohlsson

  “What’s going on with Samson’s phone traffic at the moment?” he asked.

  “Her cell phone is switched off. Calls aren’t being put through, so there’s no link to the cell phone tower when we try the number.”

  There could be a thousand reasons why Mona Samson was unavailable. She could be away. She could be ill. But Alex didn’t think that was the case. He was convinced that her radio silence was connected to the murders.

  They’re up to their ears in crap, and we still can’t get to them.

  “I’ll speak to the prosecutor,” he said. “I want to bring Saul Goldmann in again.”

  He was largely talking to himself; that wasn’t something Lasse could help him with.

  “Good luck,” his colleague said. “I’ll let you know if Mona Samson switches on her phone.”

  “Thanks.”

  Alex thought grimly that he could do with all the good luck wishes in the world, because if he summarized the investigation so far, it wasn’t just full of holes; it was a huge castle in the air.

  They couldn’t link any of the suspects to the final crime scene on Lovön.

  They had no leads on the vehicles that had been used to pick up Simon and Abraham and to transport them to the island.

  They hadn’t found the murder weapon.

  All he had was a father who had lied about an alibi, and he didn’t have one for the time of the murders. Saul Goldmann, who might be having an affair with Mona Samson. Which was the possible motive he had come up with, but it was pretty pathetic for such a speculative crime.

  Saul had murdered his own son so that he would be able to spend the rest of his life with Mona Samson. Alex didn’t know whether it had been his own idea or Mona’s, but that was less important at this stage.

  But why kill Simon Eisenberg, too? And why take Polly?

  To hide the real motive. That kind of thing happened sometimes: a murderer camouflaged one crime by committing several more.

  It’s too weak, he thought. It won’t stand up.

  Shit.

  At that moment Fredrika called from Israel.

  “I’m catching an earlier flight,” she said. “I’m in a cab on the way to the airport.”

  “What time do you land?”

  “Eight o’clock this evening. There’s a stopover in Zurich. But there are things I need to tell you right away. Saul Goldmann’s father was the Paper Boy. He murdered two children and abducted another before he was caught. Gideon Eisenberg was his last victim, and as a result Saul’s father was given a life sentence. And another thing: Saul Goldmann is probably sterile. He wasn’t Abraham’s biological father.”

  If Alex hadn’t been holding onto the phone so tightly, he would have dropped it.

  “I’ve just left Tel Aviv,” Fredrika went on. “There’s no company there or anywhere else in the country called Samson SecInt.”

  To Alex, the story that had led to the shooting of the two boys on Lovön had become as clear as the colors of a rainbow. Fredrika’s account was long and detailed. She wept as she described the meeting with Gideon’s parents.

  The Paper Boy was not just a myth.

  He had existed.

  Saul Goldmann was his son.

  And Gideon Eisenberg had been his last victim.

  “How come they remained friends?” Alex asked.

  “I mentioned that to the parents, and they said they weren’t sure they would describe their relationship as friendly. According to Gideon’s mother, it was as if the events of their childhood created a bond between them that neither was able to break, possibly because of politeness or sorrow over the past. As far as the move to Sweden is concerned, I got the feeling that something happened when they were in the army, something they can’t or won’t talk about, and that’s why they decided to leave the country. I have no idea why they chose Sweden in particular.”

  Alex didn’t think he needed an answer to that question. He briefly outlined what he had come up with.

  “I was wrong about the motive, but I think I’m right about our killer,” he said.

  “I agree. Saul Goldmann is our man. What do we do now?”

  There was only one possible response. As if in a trance, Alex turned and gazed out of the window. Even more snow, even lower temperatures.

  Where was Polly Eisenberg?

  “We go to the prosecutor and we bring in Saul Goldmann.”

  “And Mona Samson?”

  “I’ll put out a call on her. I want an end to this.”

  The tempting aroma of coffee found its way into Peder’s office. He had just been out, and there was snow on his clothes and in his hair. If it hadn’t been so warm in the community center, he would have been worried about getting sick.

  They were still taking plenty of calls from anxious members of the Solomon community. The idea of temporarily closing the Solomon school had been discussed, but Peder had advised against it. Instead he had increased security at the school entrance and held a meeting that morning to go through safety issues with the staff.

  Peder Rydh hated being on the outside. And he had probably never been more of an outsider than he was right now. He had heard nothing from Efraim Kiel. Contact with Alex was sporadic. His former colleagues in the National Crime Unit didn’t answer when he called.

  And yet it was Peder who had cracked some of the key issues in the investigation. If they had listened to him earlier on, they might have had the chance to move Polly Eisenberg to safety before she was taken.

  Peder didn’t understand the background to what had happened, nor did he know whether the police had any suspects in mind at this stage. They should have, in his opinion, because they were running out of time. He was certain that Polly didn’t have many hours left to live—not if she had been abducted by the same person who had killed her brother.

  As far as Peder could see, the idea that they were dealing with two perpetrators was beyond all reasonable doubt, otherwise the timeline just didn’t work. Two killers with very different temperaments. One took his time. Planned a structured approach. Abducted his victims, then murdered them at a later stage. The person who had shot Josephine from the roof hadn’t had that kind of patience, which worried Peder.

  Why had the attempt on Polly Eisenberg’s life been so different from the murder of her brother?

  Shot in the street, in broad daylight. Protected only by the falling snow.

  It just wasn’t logical, bearing in mind how the perpetrator had acted the second time he approached Polly. She had been in the park, tobogganing with a friend. Why not try to shoot her there? Or had the killer abandoned his attempts to end her life in front of witnesses after the previous failure?

  Peder went into the kitchen to make himself another cup of coffee.

  He still believed they were looking for two killers, one who had concentrated on the boys, the other on Polly. Or was it just his imagination? If he thought about how the crimes had actually been carried out, it seemed more likely that whoever had abducted the boys had also taken Polly. Perhaps he or she had disapproved of the actions of the sniper on the roof and decided to go it alone.

  But in that case why hadn’t they found Polly?

  Her brother had been killed less than twenty-four hours after he disappeared. Peder thought the idea that the perpetrator might have murdered Polly, then hidden her body, was out of the question. That wasn’t how either of the killers operated.

  Which meant she was still alive.

  He took his coffee back to his office.

  If Polly was still alive, it was necessary to ask a difficult question: Why wasn’t she dead?

  Because it was never the intention that anyone other than the boys should die.

  Intuition could lead anyone astray, but this time Peder was sure he was right. Polly’s abduction just didn’t fit in.

  The first incident was so neat and tidy, so symmetrical. Two boys of the same age. Both abducted at the same time, both found shot dead in the same place. Polly wasn’t part of
that picture, unless you took into account the fact that the Goldmanns had only one child. If the aim was to leave both sets of parents childless, then Polly had to be dealt with.

  But why such a different MO in each case, if the children were going to be killed with the same gun anyway?

  It didn’t make sense. It just didn’t.

  Almost without being conscious of what he was doing, he picked up his phone and with practiced fingers found Alex’s number.

  Alex sounded stressed.

  “Peder, I haven’t got time to talk right now.”

  He could feel the pulse, the adrenaline, coming from Alex and felt a fresh surge of envy. He was so tired of being on the outside.

  “I can call back later—it’s just an idea I had.”

  “You know I’m happy to listen to you, but things are a bit hectic here. Was it something important?”

  Peder hesitated, unsure whether what he had to say would qualify as important.

  “It’s just something that occurred to me. About Polly Eisenberg.”

  He noticed a sudden stillness in Alex.

  “Tell me.”

  Peder put his doubts to one side; he had nothing to lose by saying what he thought.

  “I believe she’s alive. That’s why you haven’t found her.”

  “Right.”

  Alex sounded disappointed, as if he had expected Peder to come up with something better.

  “Actually,” he went on, “I’ve been thinking along the same lines. That we still have time.”

  “You misunderstand me. I don’t believe she was meant to die at all.”

  “You’ve lost me,” Alex said. “You were the one who came up with the idea that the sniper hadn’t meant to kill Josephine.”

  “Exactly. But I’m wondering if you’re looking for two perpetrators—with a different agenda.”

  He was already starting to wish he hadn’t made the call. His ideas were too premature to share with someone else; they sounded ridiculous when he put them into words.

  “A different agenda?” Alex said. “Peder, if you know who these people are, you have to tell me.”

  “Are you crazy? Of course I don’t know who they are,” Peder said, his cheeks flushing with a sudden spurt of anger.

  What the hell was Alex thinking?

  I’m on your side, Alex. I’ve never been anywhere else.

  He tried again.

  “I’ve been thinking about how the different crimes were committed. There was an enormous margin of error for whoever lay on the roof and shot Josephine. The weather was terrible; it was snowing and visibility was poor. Only a real sharpshooter could have taken on a task like that and succeeded.”

  He could tell that Alex was listening now.

  “Go on.”

  Peder went over what he had come up with so far. How well planned the murder of the boys seemed in comparison with the attempt on Polly’s life. How strange it was that Polly still hadn’t been found.

  When he had finished, Alex remained silent for a little while.

  “I will get back to you,” he said eventually. “And I’m glad you called. But right now the evidence is pointing in a different direction.”

  “Can you tell me anything?” Peder said, with a certain amount of pessimism; he knew what Alex was going to say.

  “Not at the moment, but we’ll talk later. Your support has been invaluable, Peder. I won’t forget that.”

  Peder suddenly realized why Alex sounded so stressed.

  “You’re about to arrest a suspect, aren’t you?”

  He heard a rustling sound at the other end of the line.

  “I’ll call you,” Alex said. “Bye.”

  And he was gone.

  Peder sat in his office with his coffee, still convinced that he was right.

  Two killers had shared the same gun but not the same vision. He didn’t even want to contemplate what consequences that might have for the way in which the story currently being played out in Stockholm might end.

  It was late afternoon by the time the police went to pick up Saul Goldmann. He was under surveillance, so they were well prepared for any sudden movement or an attempt to leave town. But nothing happened; he was arrested at work, where he had been all afternoon.

  Alex Recht decided to stay at Police HQ; he was going to conduct the first interview with Saul and wanted to make sure he was absolutely ready.

  Fredrika had written a summary of what Gideon Eisenberg’s parents had told her, and she had managed to send it to him before she boarded the plane in Tel Aviv.

  Mona Samson was still notable by her absence. Alex was annoyed that she had managed to slip under the radar before they figured out she was involved. Perhaps she was hiding wherever they were holding Polly Eisenberg. Perhaps she, too, was being held against her will. But in that case the question of who had been lying on the roof still remained; it certainly wasn’t Saul Goldmann, because he was taller than the indentation in the snow suggested.

  At the same time as Saul was being arrested, a search would be carried out at his home and his office. The prosecutor had agreed only when they were able to prove that Saul’s cell phone had been in Östermalm when Saul claimed he had been in Kungsholmen.

  Alex leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand as he made a mental list of what he was hoping they would find.

  A pair of size 91/2 boots. Or something that would reveal how the boys had been transported: perhaps a receipt for a rental car or something similar. Their attempts to find out whether a person by the name of Zalman had rented a car in Stockholm around the time of the murders had proven fruitless.

  But most of all, Alex wanted to find the murder weapon.

  The prosecutor had been very clear. Without a confession or further proof, he would never be able to take it to court.

  A confession seemed highly unlikely, but they ought to be able to find further proof.

  Otherwise it would be back to square one, and in that case Alex had no idea how they were going to save Polly Eisenberg.

  • • •

  At first glance Saul Goldmann didn’t appear to be particularly bothered by the situation, although he had requested the presence of his lawyer throughout the interview.

  “Do you understand why you’re here?” Alex began.

  “Because for some unknown reason you think I killed not only my own son but his friend as well. It’s an utterly ridiculous idea, and I hope we can clear this up as quickly as possible.”

  Alex studied him closely.

  His facial features were as neat and tidy as the clothes he wore. He seemed to be handling his son’s death much better than his wife, who had broken down completely as she watched her husband being led out of the office.

  “You say your own son,” Alex said, “but he wasn’t yours, was he?”

  He rarely opened an interview with a straight right, but this time he had decided to go for it.

  Saul Goldmann couldn’t hide his surprise. His lawyer gave him a quizzical look but said nothing.

  “What? Of course he was my son.”

  “According to our information, that isn’t the case. You had a vasectomy many years ago.”

  “I’m sorry, but I really don’t see what this has to do with anything.”

  “Then you’d better think again, because obviously we are interested in your relationship to the child we suspect you killed.”

  Alex could see that Saul was already seething, which was a good thing. Those who lost control were often the easiest to manipulate, even if they would never admit it themselves.

  “Abraham was my boy,” Saul said, emphasizing every word. “I loved him deeply, and I am bereft without him.”

  His voice held until the very last word, then broke. Alex wasn’t sure whether that was down to grief or anger.

  “Who’s the Paper Boy?” he said.

  “You asked me that the last time we met.”

  “And now I’m asking you again: Who’s the Paper Boy?”

/>   Saul’s expression was defiant.

  “An Israeli myth.”

  “Invented by whom?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Who first told you the story?”

  “I can’t remember.”

  “Did he really exist?”

  “No, as I’ve already told you, he was an imaginary figure.”

  Alex leaned back in his chair.

  “My colleague is currently on her way back from Israel, where she visited the kibbutz where you and Gideon Eisenberg grew up.”

  The color drained from Saul’s face.

  “Are you sure the Paper Boy didn’t exist in reality?”

  Saul blinked but said nothing.

  Patience was an undervalued virtue when it came to interviewing a suspect. Alex allowed time to work for him and wondered how long it would be before Saul gave in. As expected, it didn’t take many minutes.

  “I assume you want me to say that my father was the Paper Boy.”

  “Wasn’t he?”

  “No. It was just something we made up as kids.”

  “But he did abduct and kill children.”

  Saul sighed.

  “Yes.”

  “How was he caught?”

  There was another long silence, and Saul’s expression changed. He scratched his forehead and let out a low groan.

  “This is pure fantasy. You know that Gideon was my father’s last victim, and you think I attacked his child as an act of revenge. And that I killed my own son as well because I’m not his biological father.”

  He shook his head wearily.

  Alex refused to lose heart.

  “Good guess,” he said. “But I’m afraid it only covers part of our theory. Where were you when Simon and Abraham disappeared on their way to the tennis center?”

  “I’ve already told you: in a business meeting with Mona Samson from Samson Security.”

  “And where was this?”

  “In her apartment on Hantverkargatan.”